Living in Vermont, From the October Newsletter

If you already receive my newsletter, then you’ve had a chance to read the list of changes in my life since moving to Vermont. For those who have not yet seen it, I’m republishing it below along with a few additions at the end. If you enjoy what you read, you can sign up for my online newsletter by e-mailing me: edcyzewski (at) gmail (dot) com.

Two Years in Vermont
I grew up in the suburbs of Philadelphia, but marriage to a Vermont girl has pulled me out of my native habitat and into the quiet, but cheerful world of New England. After living in Vermont for two years, I have noticed a number of changes in my life. Here are just a few of them:

– I am now the most aggressive driver on the road.
– I am starting to wonder what it would be like to drive a snow mobile.
– I am growing more and more fond of Democrats and less so of Republicans.
– Killing deer seems like a great idea for a good time.
– I am bored with the way I predictably pronounce my “a’s” correctly.
– Poisoning mice is part of a regular evening at home.
– My laundry room always smells of decaying mice.
– I actually paid full price for a pair of Birkenstocks.
– Sometimes I wear socks with my Birkenstocks.
– My red car always looks gray because we live on a dirt road.
– I never wash my car from April through December because we live on a dirt road.
– I learned all kinds of stuff about raising and killing chickens from local farmers.
– Going to church can be theologically horrifying.
– I lust after wood stoves.
– I have an inexplicable urge to tap every maple tree I see.
– I am nurturing a grudge toward big box stores even if I still shop at them.
– The phrase “night life” means wild animals prowling in the evening.

And the bonus material:
– “Pitchin’ it out back” is a viable way of removing garbage.
– I know what “clogging” is.
– I check for energy efficient bulbs in public places.
– “Going Out” will at best involve a pot luck dinner.

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I’m a work from home dad who writes books, freelances for cash or hockey tickets, gardens with reckless abandon, and laments the pizza options in his town that is north of Nashville. This blog represents where writing, contemplative prayer, and bad puns intersect.